Sunday, May 01, 2005

Vanessa Virtue...she "not professional!"

Vanessa here...

What a quandary on a Sunday night. Dude...The Family Guy returns to Fox tonight at the same time Desperate Housewives is on. What's a girl to do? I think I'll have to opt for the Griffin family for the first half hour. There's just something about Stewie that makes me want to laugh so hard that I almost pee my pants. Desperate Housewives seems to have veered off track. I'm telling you, the Towel-Dropping-Incident-Heard-Round-The-World was the death of the innovative script.

But let me tell you about what happened to me yesterday. I swear, you hear all of these jokes and stories about Postal Workers, but they ARE freaks. Or at least they put on the front of freakdom.

So, I had this package I was sending to my mother in Northern Virginia. I go to the Post Office and get one of those Priority Mail boxes. I couldn't find any of the sticky label thingies, so I just wrote in very neat block letters my return address and my mother's address. I go stand in line. And wait. And wait. And wait. This is one of those Post Offices where they issue passports, so everyone and their brother is in line for that asking questions and taking forever. So, finally, I get to almost the head of the line. The Postal clerk at window three rings her little bell. The dude (freaky dude, let's make that clear) just stands there staring off like he's on lithium or something.

The clerk rings the bell again.

I politely tap the man on the sleeve of his coat and say, "You're next."

Wrong move! He JERKS his arm away from me and turns, wide-eyed, and says to me, "Don't you ever touch me again! It's against federal law!!!"


Of course, everyone in line is now staring at me like I've just molested the freak. I mean, honestly amiga!

Thankfully, the clerk at window one rings her bell. I walk up and hand her the package. She looks at my handwritten addressing and scowls. Here's the conversation:

Me: "What's wrong?"

Her: "This wrong."

Me: "What do you mean?"

Her: "This." (pointing to the non label)

Me: "There's nothing wrong with it. You can read it."

Her: "It not professional!"

Me: "What?"

Her: (snapping at me now) "It NOT professional!"

Me: "What do you mean, "it not professional?"

Her: "You not use label."

Me: "It's fine. You can read it."

She shoves the package back at me with a blank lable. "It not professional. You redo."


Of course, I slink over to the table and fill out the label, reattach it over my handwritten stuff and have to get BACK in line. After waiting another 15 minutes, I finally get called by the clerk at window number two. She looks at the package and asks me why I re-did it with the label and I told her about "It Not Professional" woman and she peeeshawed me. She said, "oh, she's just silly."

Well, yes, she was.

Unf*ckingbelievable!!! I will never go back to that post office...or any post office. I'll start using and buying my postage online. These people ARE the definition of "going postal."

I'm off to order a pizza, crack open a bottle of Big House White and wait for my TV shows to come on...

Hang loose and avoid the PO!

Double Vee


Blogger Brenda Bradshaw said...

You're so much nicer than I am. I'd have stood there insisting it was within the government guidelines for mailing packages. My Pa was a postman for 35 years, so I have a bit of a clue. I'd have been all over her I-can't-speak-proper-English-ass. Cuz I'm mean like that.

And what's up with that freaky germophobe? That would have creeped me out. He's the kind that insists aliens are invading our brains, so we must all wear foil helmets to interrupt the transmissions.

12:15 PM  

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